


More costly than diamonds

by vulnerable_bead



Series: From Russia, because of love [8]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Precious Stones, Romantic Gestures, Sharing, practical considerations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 08:34:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulnerable_bead/pseuds/vulnerable_bead
Summary: Yuri is the sensible one. Victor is the starry-eyed one. But sometimes Yuri gets a romantic idea; and there is one area of life Victor is extremely pragmatic about. Result: premarital practicalities and general goofiness.





	More costly than diamonds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joolita](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=joolita).



> This vignette belongs towards the end of Chapter 11 of “Gains and Losses”, in the summer of Victor and Yuri’s half-a-year stay in Hasetsu.

‘Twere profanation of our joys

To tell the laity our love.

―John Donne

 

We live in a rented flat across the river, much closer to the Ice Castle, but a whiff of Mother’s _katsudon_ brings us running to Yu-topia every time. So now, full and sluggish, we are lounging on the raised platform along the house wall, Yuri munching on a slice of watermelon, filling up the last corner in his already rounded tummy, myself stretched full length, belly down, watching him. The ring on his finger glimmers and this reminds me.

‘Yuri?’

‘Mm?’

‘What are we going to do with our rings when we marry?’

‘What do you mean, “do”?’ He is taken aback. ‘You want to buy another pair?’

‘Are you crazy? No! I was just thinking we might have the date engraved inside.’

‘So that we remember our anniversary?’ he asks sweetly.

We laugh. I am terribly forgetful when it comes to dates and Yuri has already told me he won’t be upset if I forget our anniversary. He certainly won’t scold me. He summed it up nicely: ‘Why count the years if we have forever’. Yeah, I’m marrying an angel.

‘Okay, bad idea. Our names?’

‘Banal.’

‘ _I love katsudon_? Works for both of us!’

He turns to me slowly, his face stony.

‘I gather it’s a no. Some motto perhaps?’

‘ _I married a moron._ ’

‘ _But I love him_?’ If I were a dog, I’d wag my tail.

His eyes go soft.

‘A little.’

I kiss his ankle, because I don’t have to move to reach it. He has such lovely ankles, strong yet delicate. And narrow, beautifully shaped feet, the soles a bit grimy now from walking barefoot. And toes absurdly tiny, like golden beans. I tickle him. His foot curls, but somewhat absently. I look up.

He is far away, lost in reverie. The half-eaten crescent of the watermelon is resting in his slack hands. His mouth curves in a slow, dreamy smile.

‘Yuri?’ I ask quietly. ‘What is it?’

He comes back.

‘Eh? Nothing.’

But I can see he’s thought of something. Only he is reluctant to share it with me.

Yuri is an expert at showing his affection through small everyday practicalities. I am learning this from him. I am still not consistent at it; not the way he is. But at least I know he understands the meaning of perfectly ironed shirts he finds in his wardrobe. And there’s nothing more expressive of love than a promptly administered hangover remedy; my forte.

When it comes to romantic gestures, however, Yuri is a little unsure of himself. He blushes furiously when giving me flowers and his strange and imaginative endearments are uttered in darkness. And yet I see him _wanting_ to do such things. Deep down, he is far more sentimental than you’d give him credit for.

‘Yu-ri!’ I chide. ‘I’m not blind.’

‘It was a stupid idea. It can’t be done. I checked.’

Oh, so it is not something that came to him right now.

‘Now I’m curious. Tell me.’

He realises he has given himself away.

‘No, no. Just forget it. Please. It is too… too expensive.’

‘Nah, come off it. We are quite okay for money,’ I say.

And then I proceed to do a very stupid thing. Namely, I roll onto my back, cross my arms under my head and begin to lazily count off various accounts, investment funds, insurances of which he is a beneficiary, the sums floating before my closed eyes. It’s not that I memorised any of this, I just have a good head for figures.

I’m not even halfway through our assets when my recitation is suddenly halted by a sound somewhere between a squeak and a gurgle. I open my eyes, certain that I shall see Yuri choking to death on a bite of watermelon, but no. He is sitting bolt upright, his eyes goggling.

‘Victor!’ he cries, his voice high with emotion. ‘But… You are rich!’

His hands go to his mouth in a gesture of dismay.

‘I’m sorry!’

Eh? There’s obviously some misunderstanding here. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of affluence as a reason for consternation, much less regret.

‘Victor…’ He is positively moaning. ‘I didn’t know!’

I sit up, a little concerned.

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, yes, I should have told you earlier. There was just so much to do,’ I explain. ‘And of course this is only what you can access now. Some deposits could not be easily converted to both our names. I’ll do it as soon as possible. But it may take a while. I’ll keep you informed. And a lot of this will change automatically when we’re married.’

‘Stop it!’ he screeches.

I get worried. He is close to hyperventilating.

‘Yuri, what is it?’ I reach to his shoulders to steady him. ‘What did I say?’

‘Victor, this is, this is… Please…’ He grabs my hands. ‘Please, Victor, believe me. I didn’t know. I really didn’t.’

‘I know you didn’t. I said I’m sorry.’ I’m trying to soothe him, but he curls up in distress. ‘Yuri, what’s the problem?’

He looks up and promptly stuns me by saying: ‘I’m not marrying you for money!’

‘What?!’ For a moment I think I misheard him.

‘I’m not marrying you for money…’ There are tears in his eyes.

Oh damn! Some months ago I had thought that the topic of our unequal financial status would arise one day. I should have approached it less casually. I should have been prepared. Heat and Mother’s cooking made me drowsy. Ah, idiot me. I brought this on my head.

Okay, let’s see what we can do to save the situation.

‘But of course not,’ I say lightly. ‘You are marrying me because I’m the most wonderful man in the world and you can’t live without me.’

He brightens, happy to have been understood.

‘Yes!’ he says earnestly. ‘Yes!’ Then my expression betrays me, I’m afraid, because he halts and says, in a different tone, ‘You’re laughing at me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Vitka-a…!’

‘Yuri, you’re the sweetest piglet that ever walked the earth. Come here.’

I pull him to me and give him a push with my shoulder so as to lay him flat on his back. I roll onto him, fitting my body to his so that I don’t crush him (with special attention to his genitals) and, taking his hands, I twist his arms so that he crosses them under his head.

‘Vitka,’ he complains, his voice tremulous.

‘Wait. Bear with me.’

Months later, I will learn the reason for his violent reaction. JJ. The fucker had said something incredibly hurtful about dowry hunters and Yuri ignored it only because he thought JJ was exaggerating. He was certain that, financially, we were near equals, my superiority coming only from my having had a head start on gold medals. He never imagined I was investing. This afternoon it came to him JJ may have had a reason to suggest he was with me for mercenary reasons.

My God, it is fortunate I didn’t know such opinions had been voiced at the time. I would have killed someone with my bare hands.

The back of Yuri’s head is resting on our intertwined fingers now and my hips are pressing him to the warm boards. His hands are sticky with watermelon juice and I breathe the spicy scent of his body.

‘Can you move?’

He wriggles underneath me.

‘No, not very well.’

‘Can you throw me off?’

‘Um…’ Another effort. ‘No, not easily.’

‘Good. Now you shall lie here like a dutiful fiancé and listen to what I have to say. You may avert your eyes if you wish. So. Yuri. You are making two errors in reasoning and I would like to point them to you. May I? Thank you. First. You obviously labour under the impression that I’m rich. Of course there are degrees to that, but believe me, I’m not. Affluent, yes. Rich, no. And I know the difference. Don’t forget that at one point in my life I moved in extremely moneyed circles. I have been introduced to an oligarch or two.’

I have actually been fucked by an oligarch or two, and later, when I grew older, I fucked even more of their sons and heirs. I was familiar with their glittering world. I knew some of their wives, second ones all of them, pretty, empty, utterly desperate dolls. I knew their lovers, beautiful and hungry-eyed. I was well on the way to becoming one of that crowd. The only difference between me and those flitting moths was my skating. In contrast to most of them, I was somebody in my own right. But yeah, I was quite a playboy. I’ve put all this behind me, though. Mostly because I met a certain shy Japanese and he fell in love with me.

He saved me.

‘I have personally known men who would not make a slightest dent in their wealth if they lived a hundred lifetimes. Not one of them was happy. Not the way I’ve learnt to imagine happiness.’

And some of them got far shorter lifetimes in which to be happy than they had expected. At least two of my former lovers died violent deaths, one knifed, one shot in what was clearly a mafia execution. Once, at a very exclusive party, only my practised ear saved me from a lot of trouble when I realised that the slight disturbance in the rhythm of the music was actually muffled shots being fired nearby. I excused myself, pleading a training session early next day, and went away in time not to be caught in the resulting maelstrom.

‘And this brings me to the second point. You have just attempted to explain to me that you are not marrying me because I am well-off. Yuri, _zvezdochka_ … You are deeply mistaken if you imagine I could have thought that.’

Especially that, oh Yuri, I _know_ what it means to be with a man for his money and the security it offers. When you are, you don’t look at him the way you are looking at me now.

‘But, Yuri-chan… I would be content even if you were with me for no other reason than money. This is because I…’

I put my cheek to his chest. In the end, it is I who avert my eyes.

‘Before I met you, I was lonely. I was… very lonely. I don’t think you’ll ever know how. Because for me to tell you, you’d have to get me so drunk that I’d pass out before I’d start talking.’

His fingers free themselves from my grasp. He gently rests his hands on my head.

‘So all I can say is… I am a moody, capricious, unreliable, not very well educated Russian with a bad past and I’m happy that you want us to be together. Because this makes me feel good about myself. If such a wonderful man as you likes me, I must be an okay guy.’

I rub my nose on his pointed chin.

‘And I’m glad that I can bring something into our married life. Anything. My talents, such as they are, my, I don’t know, sense of humour, my whatever it is that you like about me, and my money, too. Do you understand?’

He nods. His eyes are wet. This is a man who for a long time had thought he was not enough. If only he knew how unworthy I sometimes feel of him.

‘So please, remember, always: whatever I have, it’s yours. With the exception of my toothbrush. Use your own, please.’

The quip is silly but effective; he answers with a small smile.

‘But if you’re thinking along the lines of me buying you a palace in Tuscany, you may forget it. I’d love to, but I can’t afford it.’

‘Tuscany?’ he queries.

‘Italy. Where the Chianti wine comes from.’

‘Ah.’

‘We will be able to buy a nice house in Vancouver, though. Does this sound good to you?’

He nods, his eyes on mine.

‘I’m glad, because it sounds great to me. But let’s make one thing clear. We will always have to work. All our lives, until we grow old.’

‘Victor,’ he says quietly, ‘I have never thought otherwise. I’m not afraid of work.’

‘Neither am I. As long as I’m enjoying it. And one thing makes us very fortunate, Yuri. We will always have jobs we will like. Even when we retire from sport. This we _can_ afford.’

Yuri once told me he should not have gone to study chemistry. He called his degree useless. I don’t think it is, but I can understand what he means. There’s nothing worse than pointless effort. We are both achievers. So now I am happy to see him grin as if he wanted to get down to work, whatever it might be, right now.

‘Which reminds me. I meant to ask you: why did you never get any endorsement deals?’

‘You mean, advertising things?’ I nod. He shrugs. ‘Nobody ever offered.’

That’s because you were hiding in corners, eyes down, never letting anyone notice how gorgeous you are, I think, but I hold my peace. All I say is, ‘This will be remedied.’

‘Vitka, be reasonable. Who would want _me_ to advertise anything?’

‘I, for one. I’d buy anything with your face on it. Even if it were ladies’ underwear.’

His mind clearly shies away from the image, but his mouth twitches. My man.

‘You have a blind spot for me. Nobody else does.’

‘Wait and see.’

‘Vitka, I’m not going to chase anyone begging them to offer me a deal.’

‘Leave it to me.’

I have some contacts in the advertising industry. I’ve done some one-off adverts when I was younger, not exactly my favourite job, but it was nicer to be selling my face than my ass, and then I had three carefully chosen, very lucrative endorsement deals, the easiest money I’ve ever earned. And, of course, I’ve given more than a few interviews. So I am already thinking of people to call and send a photo or two of this _ingénu_ who has no idea his face could sell sand in Sahara, nobody haggling.

‘Do as you please,’ he yields. ‘But you’ll be disappointed.’

‘No, I won’t. You’re a handsome champion. That’s a desirable commodity. Endorsements will soon be serenading under your window.’

‘Yeah. Best way to ruin my looks. Tell them that if I stay awake till after midnight, I turn into a pumpkin.’

Yuri grumbles. This means he has calmed down. He seems to be taking the discovery of our financial inequality in his stride. Great! I quickly make up my mind to take advantage of this. I need to discuss a certain related matter with him. The point is, when it comes to managing money, I am far, _far_ more experienced than he, and I actually like doing it. Maths was the only subject I never had problems with at school and when I grew older, I discovered I just understood finance. I invested my prizes and even played the market a little, and I was not unsuccessful.

Wow. It has just occurred to me that if I hadn’t been a champion skater, I might have ended up in banking. What a choice, a gigolo or an accountant. Some friendly deity must have been watching over me.

Okay, let’s give it a try. I marshal my arguments and begin, ‘Yuri… I have a favour to ask. A big one.’ I pause. He is waiting. ‘When we marry, will you let me manage our finances?’

‘Yes.’

My God, just like that.

Readily, confidently, without a moment of hesitation, he puts his money – which equals his family’s security – into my hands, no convincing needed. Sweetheart, do you have any idea what it means to me to be so trusted?

‘But, Yuri, this is a serious thing.’ It seems that now I am less certain than he.

‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Be warned that sometimes I will just give you papers to sign. I won’t always consult my decisions with you. I won’t explain them to you. Are you okay with that?’

‘Yes. I probably wouldn’t understand if you tried to, anyway.’

‘I will never do anything truly risky. I give you my word. But I may make some bad decisions and lose us money. Won’t you be blaming me?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good, because I’ll be blaming myself enough.’

‘Why? It’s not that you would do it on purpose.’

‘But it will mean I wasn’t doing my job properly.’

He considers my point.

‘Tell me, this far, when you were…’ He lacks vocabulary here. ‘Dealing with money,’ he finishes lamely, ‘did it work? I mean, were you earning?’

‘Yes.’

‘So explain to me, logically, why would that change after we’re married?’

‘Er… Because I’m unable to think straight when I am near you?’

He looks at me witheringly and that closes the matter.

I settle down with his chest for a pillow. He is lazily stroking my hair and I feel relaxed and very happy. He has made me the family’s banker and boy, am I going to make a good job of it!

I grin into his belly. Family. Oh, this is too good to be true. Soon we will be a family, a husband and a husband, plus dog.

Which reminds me!

I take a deep breath and – vroom! I blow a mammoth raspberry into his navel. He gives an indignant shriek. He hates me doing this.

‘Splendid. Now that we have this settled, let’s come back to the issue of rings, shall we? You said you had some idea. Out with it.’

‘Aw. You won’t let go?’

‘No.’ I sit up, cross-legged, and pull him so that he plants his butt between my thighs, his legs going around me. Now we are almost nose to nose, he a little above me. This is a good position for talking. And for kissing, too. ‘Look, _yablochko_ , let me put it this way: if I don’t like your idea, I’ll tell you. If I consider it too extravagant, I’ll tell you. I won’t go with it blindly. Okay? But for all this to happen, I must know what it is. Come on. I’m all ears.’  

Yuri sighs resignedly. Good! He’s going to tell me.

He is just about to start speaking when, aw, Mother – probably startled by the sound of the raspberry – sticks her head out of the door and asks him something. He answers. I know now that all Japan knows him for a Kyushan the moment he opens his mouth, but for me, their voices are just a pleasant, lilting melody in which from time to time I can discern a familiar word. The wonderful thing, however, is that Yuri continues sitting in my lap as they talk, just leaning backwards against my arms. He is not at all embarrassed in front of his family. In fact, I have a feeling he is extremely proud he is engaged to be married and – can it be? – that he is showing off a little.

Is it possible that this mutual affirmation, yes, I want to spend the rest of my days with you, has meant so much to him? If so, proposing to him was the best idea I’ve ever had in my life.

I am rather pleased about being engaged myself. I thought I was being discreet about it, but comments from the guys seem to indicate it shows. Chris and Phichit are leading in the teasing. Oh well, they are probably entitled. They are officially our best men. Yura wrote something surprisingly witty about syrupy _katsudon_ s being disgusting and old men being better advised to think of a grave than of marriage bed, and is now showing his disapproval by being pointedly silent. 

‘ _Vic-chan, remonēdo-o nomimashō-ka?_ ’ asks Mother, her pronunciation not clearer, but her speed reduced. All the family talks to me this way and my Japanese has progressed to simple domestic conversations.

‘ _Hai, nomimashō_ ,’ I answer. ‘ _Dōmo arigatō, Okāsan_.’

Mother disappears. I glance at Yuri. He always corrects me when I make a glaring mistake, but now he nods his approval and takes his ring off. I get a distinct feeling he has stopped being coy as a reward for my being a brave Japanese learner.

Our rings are broad, heavy, convex bands of yellow gold, rather old-fashioned, but I’ve always liked this about them. They feel stable, permanent, not a product of a one-season craze; very much Yuri’s choice.

He turns the shiny circle in his fingers, examining it closely. I lift my hand to look at mine. They are not pristine any longer, the gold is beginning to show signs of wear, a scratch here, a scratch there. This is how it should be.

‘I like the shape of these rings. This curve is so smooth. I want them to stay as they are. But at the same time I want them to change.’

I nod my agreement.

‘Most people engrave some message inside. But I don’t like obvious things. I want something that cannot be easily explained. So I thought I’d like each of us to have a precious stone set on his band, but – inside, next to the finger. So that only we know they are there.’

What a strange combination of the practical and the romantic! And I understand what he means very well. Love is a private thing. Having all too often stood in the limelight, I appreciate how discreet his idea is.

‘Interesting. And what stones did you have in mind?’

‘In your ring, I want a pink diamond. For _sakura_ flowers. Because I am Japanese.’

I immediately recognise this image as appropriate. And I think to myself: there’s more to it than a reference to his nationality. My future husband is delicate like _sakura_ flowers but resilient like a _sakura_ tree. So yes, this feels right.

I have a very distinct memory from the spring after I arrived in Hasetsu. We were standing under the _sakura_ tree in the courtyard, talking, and there came a sudden gust of wind, and Yuri was enveloped in a fluttering cloud of pale pink petals. Some settled on his hair and I thought, my, is this kid handsome.

To think that I once thought of him as ‘kid’. How patronising of me.

A very hard yet softly coloured stone. Yeah, my Yuri all right, the rock that makes my life worth living.

‘Pink diamond it is. And what gemstone would you like in your ring?’

‘Well… You know that when I am anxious, I turn the ring on my finger. I sometimes take it off and play with it. After we’re married, I want to have inside it a stone that reminds me of you. To know you’re with me. Especially when I am upset.’

‘Yes! I want to be with you. Always. So what would it be? A blue diamond maybe, for snow? It would fit me both as a Russian and as a Canadian.’

‘ _Anō_ …’ Yuri rubs the back of his neck with the heel of his palm. He looks uncomfortable. Oh, I see! This is where the crux of the matter lies. Now I am just burning with curiosity. What the hell does he want that makes him so hesitant, the Koh-i-noor?

He shakes his head and, eyes down, says, ‘An alexandrite.’

I look at him blankly. I’ve never heard of a gemstone called that.

‘Only I want a Russian one,’ he adds. ‘And they are more expensive than diamonds. Because the Urals mines are exhausted.’

I still have no idea what he is talking about.

In the end Yuri gets his laptop and shows me.

I soon learn that alexandrites were discovered in the 1830s and named in honour of the tsarevich, the future Alexander II, and that the most amazing thing about them is that they change colour. They shift from red to green depending on the kind of light that falls on them, so they look like emeralds in daylight and like rubies in artificial light. Wow! I didn’t know there were gemstones that could do that!

Russian alexandrites are very rare now, mostly obtained by dismantling old jewellery, because, yes, the Urals mines are supposedly exhausted.

Oh, are they? I huff. Tell it to the marines. I may be learning about these gems for the first time in my life, but I have heard a thing or two about Russian diamonds and I can extrapolate. The Urals mines, even though state-owned, are without exception in the hands of the ex-KGB men. Diamond trade is a nice little sideline for them; the real deal is oil. If alexandrites are really so rare and expensive, the same will go for them, if I’m any judge. And they won’t be available on the open market; all the yield will go straight to the Middle East, to grace the fingers of sheiks and the necks of their _habibi_ s. It won’t be easy to get one for Yuri.

But okay, it is a beautiful gemstone. My fiancé’s got taste.

I’d like him to be a little more precise in his explanations, though.

‘Yuri, why does an alexandrite remind you of me? Is it because I played an ice prince for so long? It is very tsarist, you know.’

‘No, no…’ He lowers his eyes. ‘The reason is, it is like you.’

‘In what way?’ Yeah, I am fishing for a compliment. Mercilessly so.

‘You are… unexpected!’ he says with more feeling than sense.

‘Eh?’

He pauses. I see him marshal his thoughts.

‘An alexandrite is like you because it is changeable,’ he explains, his speech precise. ‘When people see you, you are cool, collected and brilliant. Regal. Yes, like a tsar. And I admire you. Then you come home and you are silly and funny and scatterbrained, and a little depressed sometimes, and with all this…’ He blinks back tears. ‘Mine to love.’

I feel very touched. It’s so like Yuri to turn my inconsistent nature into an asset.

‘I like it that you are impulsive. You are fun. I am a boring person. You make my life exciting. With you, things happen to me.’

He enjoys my unpredictability. _My unpredictability!_ Could a man ask for more?

The truth, however, is that he is just as changeable as I am. When the sweet, serious, dependable Yuri transforms into the glittering Eros or the mysterious _kitsune_ , I feel that I have won a man as multifaceted as any diamond.

I won’t tell him that now, however. He’d think I’m just trying to reciprocate. He is still a little insecure this way. So, some other time. Rest assured, Yuri, you’ll know how I feel.

All that I say now is, ‘I like your idea. Now let’s find out how much it costs.’

It cost _a lot_ , I must admit, and the jeweller who undertook to set the stones inside the bands, a young Pole resident in London – because that’s where we located a Russian alexandrite of a suitable size and quality – complained that it was a crime to condemn such a light-loving gem to perpetual darkness. But we explained the reason and he understood (it turned out he was gay himself). He did a wonderful job.

By late autumn the rings are ready. Soon we stop wearing them. We take them off the day after the Worlds. From now on they will be sitting in a velvet box in a drawer and waiting for June. We feel very strange without them, and this helps us see how lost we would feel without each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I have seen a Russian alexandrite once; I have actually held it in my hand. It was the size of a lentil and it was incredible. Diamonds? Please. There's no comparison.  
> ***  
> I won't even apologise for coming up with yet another vignette. Especially that I already know there's going to be one more, longer story in this series; but it will truly be the last.


End file.
